


Blood

by Saltstone



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cosmic/Lovecraftian Horror, Extremely Underage, M/M, Macro/Micro, Unbirthing, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltstone/pseuds/Saltstone
Summary: Snoke was not born; he was made.
Relationships: Snoke/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_inks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/gifts).



Snoke was not born; he was made. He supposed this was true of all who walked the galaxy; the things beings were in adulthood rarely had origin in the squalling infants that came out from between their mother's thighs. But, his sense of being made--that was more profound than normal. He did not have parents, either to honor or to defy. He had no blood. That which ran through his veins was nothing but a medium for oxygen, something to keep his heart beating and his head thinking. It wasn't blood--it wasn't a bloodline. It wasn't something that connected him to the world. 

When he dreamed, then, he dreamed of blood. They were mixed between liquid spilling out from veins, people dying, suffering. The varicolored evidence of suffering that not even lightsaber blades could cauterize. He dreamed of bloodlines and births--the force-sensitivity that was carried in the veins. 

He dreamed of Ben. The dreams swirled through every layer of the cosmos. In Ben's eyes, he saw the galaxy and quarks, all the same. He'd see Ben as a child, superimposed on his large and broad adult body. It was all the same--the ribbon he stitched through time was a thread that Snoke had been fascinated to pull, before Ben took even his first breath. 

The first dream was just after Ben's birth, before Snoke even knew that he would develop this fascination. He felt the presence of an infant, as large as the galaxy, and his cries tore spacetime. He found himself looking for the child, pushing through the darkness in the recesses of his mind, desperate to shut him up--but he was never able to find him. Not until he had seen him in person. 

Then, when he had the warmth of Ben's skin in his memory, the dreams changed. Instead of the child, still wet with birthing fluid, he dreamed of the man. He was tall, broad, with dark inscrutable eyes and a furious face, clothed in black. While awake, Snoke felt only smugness from the thought--he would turn Ben, he would make Ben his tool. The galaxy would quake underneath the power he would gain, the culmination of so much blood in Ben's veins. But in his dreams, Ben seemed to tower. His mouth opened, and in the cavity Snoke could see stars. 

In life, Snoke cut an imposing figure, but in his dreams he was small. He was a child, a toddler. He crawled at Ben's feet, his clumsy fingers scrambling to gain purchase on slippery ground, stained with red. He reached, straining for Ben as his dark robes rippled around them. He wanted to be part of that blood, though in the formless paranoia of dreams, he did not understand precisely what it would mean or the extent of the desire. 

His chubby, infant hands grabbed onto the rough fabric of Ben's pants--Ben, in this imagery, was much taller than he should be, if proportional. He didn't have the figure of an adult to a child. He was the size of a mountain and a human both; small enough that the infant Snoke could dream of climbing him, but with an immensity that meant the ground quaked with every shift of his feet and that his breath was like the northern wind. Ben was nothing but potential, laden with it. The entirety of history was congealed on the surface of his skin, giving him an oily, black film on top of his inhuman pallor. He was a creature, now, too, but he had once been born--and in Snoke's delirium, that was all he could think. 

He pulled himself up Ben's body, shaky hand over hand. His fingers clenched fabric, until the fabric fell away and the pads of his skin were tangling in body hair, pulling hard enough that strands came away. Ben didn't flinch. His cock was soft, quiescent, but all the vulnerability that normally came from the human genitalia at rest was missing. It felt like a promise, of blood to come. Of the continuation of bloodlines, and when Snoke grabbed a handful, it felt like power in his fist. But even that didn't feel like enough, not in the logic of the dream. Snoke kept crawling. Underneath Ben's dick, and pushing past his balls. To the entrance where Snoke could go into him, become one with him--become part of his story. Snoke became smaller, somehow, small enough that the dream of having been born felt possible, at least in reverse. Small enough that he pushed his arm past Ben's sphincter and then his shoulder, sliding in. 

The heat of it was incredible. This was the animal that all humans were--that Ben was and would be, the flesh that the enormity of his power adhered to. The wrinkles in Snoke's skin pulled against the wrinkles of Ben's anus, rubbing, and filling him with an unbearable warmth. 

He kept climbing, pushing himself in. The enormity of Ben's body was drowned out by the particularity around him, the flesh and squeeze of it. His body was clenched in a vise of Ben, consuming him, bringing him in. 

The dream always ended in the same way: Snoke no longer had to crawl. A power drew Snoke up, pulling him in and swallowing him up. He hadn't been born, not meaningfully, but now he was going through the process in reverse. He was taken up and taken in, lodging himself deep within Ben's body--his flesh pulsating around him, making him warm, embedding him in a history that did not belong to him. The lattice of Ben's capillaries seeped out of him and attached, a swollen cord linking them at the belly. Snoke floated, sustained by heat and body. He was one with Ben, he was of Ben and from him. He was inseparable from him. 

And then, in that moment, Snoke would wake and he would cover himself in the more mundane juices of his pleasure.


End file.
